Sunday, September 4th, 2011

     I’m losing chunks of time. My cursed persona is getting stronger, and she’s taken me over a few times now. Each time feels like just a few hours, but when I’m in control again, I find that days, even weeks have gone by. She’s always there, even when I’m in control, I can feel her in the back of my mind. I can sense her. Her presence is like a low buzzing or a hum, waiting for her turn to take over. “Turn” is the wrong choice of word, as it implies that I have an equal opportunity to be myself. I don’t so much, anymore. She barges in whenever she wants, wherever she wants, and sometimes it’s hard for me to differentiate myself from her.

     There are qualities that separate her from me. She’s a terrible driver, for one thing. I’m lucky to be alive to write this entry, and so are several residents of this town. I can’t say the same for the mailboxes of those residents. The last time I had control of myself, I had the presence of mind to hide the car keys, and she hasn’t found them yet.

     She doesn’t seem to know about some of the things I do as myself. Anything that has to do with magic or the workings of the curse seems to be out of her scope. She doesn’t know about this diary, or the book of riddles, or Daniel’s coin, or even my safe haven underneath my father’s crypt.

     Any reminders of magic bring me back instantly, but I have to wait for her to come across them. It has become increasingly harder for me to force my control over my own body, as I did when Henry had fallen into that pit when he ran away. But I can’t just attach a leather strap to Daniel’s coin and wear it around my wrist. Just to be safer, I’ve strategically placed several talismans in places around my home and office. I’ve brought up little wooden chests from my safe haven and set them up on bookshelves and on my desks. To any cursed or normal person, they might look like charming decorations. But I know them to be chests for holding the hearts of those I wish to control. They are—for the most part—empty. But seeing one is enough for me to be aware that it is something from home that was not meant to be part of this world. So now, being home is relatively safe, and being in my office is relatively safe. Being on my way to work or home is a risk. Being anywhere else is a risk.

     Even still, all of my magical things only work when she sees them. Until then, I’m stuck with her in charge, and she can be very oblivious to what’s on her desk or in her pockets. My protections haven’t completely prevented my cursed persona from taking over and messing things up for me. As mayor, I’ve watched her screw up plans for one project by shifting funds into another, completely stupid one. I almost lost this last election thanks to her, and I ran unopposed!

     Henry hardly talks to me anymore. I can’t blame him. I know she doesn’t like him. She’s not trying to kill him, at least. She’s feeding him. She’s making sure he’s clean. She’s even taking him to therapy.

     I’ve been afraid to face him when I’m myself, so he’s been neglected by her and by me, as well. It breaks my heart to stay away from him, but I see how he looks at me through her eyes. I don’t know if I could handle seeing the same thing through my own.

     Today, I decided I couldn’t ignore him when I’m myself, forever. I gathered all of the courage I had and made my way around my house to find him. Henry was downstairs in the living room. He was standing beside the mantle, with one of the chests in his hands. The lid was lifted and he was peering inside.

     My first instinct was to tell him to get away from there, but I held it back and just watched him. He didn’t know I was there, and he was so fascinated by the box. He held it in his hands and traced a finger over the carvings on the lid. I sometimes wish I could tell him about the Enchanted Forest. I wish I could tell him about how old that box is and what it first contained when his grandfather gave it to me when I was his age. But this is such a better world, even with what’s been happening to me. And to us.

     “Looking for something?” I finally announced myself. Henry stood upright, shut the lid and put the box back on the shelf.

     “No, just looking.” Henry didn’t run, even though I originally thought he would. He stood and stared at me. I don’t know what he was looking at, but it was like he was waiting for something to happen. Whatever it was didn’t happen, I think, because he approached me. I stood back, but instead, he sat on a chair in front of me.

     “Can I ask you something?”

     “Of course.” My exhale of breath surprised me. I didn’t even know I was holding it.

     “How come you’ve never told me anything about my dad?”

     Now I was tense. I sat down across from him.

     “You’ve never asked.”

     “Did he die?”

     “Not that I know of.”

     “Did you divorce him?”

     “No—“

     “Is it Sheriff Graham?”

     “No!” I may have laughed. He slouched at this news, before sitting upright again and taking in a deep breath.

     “Was I adopted?”

     I knew this question would come, eventually. I never wanted to think it would, but I was surprised it took this long.

     “I adopted you shortly after you were born. I don’t know your real parents,” which was true. I personally had never met them. “I only know they couldn’t take care of you.”

     “Why?”

     “Well, your mother was in prison, and I’m sure she wanted to do what was best for you.”

     He looked at me as though her imprisonment was somehow my fault.

     “Do you know who she is?”

     “No,” which was also true, “but I’m glad she had you so I can love you.”

     Henry didn’t look too thrilled about that. My heart sank as I stood from the couch.

     “You better get ready for school.”

     “Today’s Sunday.” He got up anyway. It’s not unusual for me to forget what day it is.

     “What did you think you’d find in there?” I asked before he left.

     “I don’t know. Not a heart or anything.” He stopped at the doorway.

     “Certainly not.” My own heart pounded loud in my chest. “Why would you think I’d keep something like that?”

     “You wouldn’t.” He turned to me. “That’s something an evil queen might do.” My son was blessed with many fine qualities. Subtlety was not one of them. He did his best to correct himself, no doubt because my jaw had dropped. “But you’re not an evil queen! The box just looks big enough.” He stood there and waited for a better explanation to come out of his mouth. He looked up and to his left, as though he was listening for it. Three full seconds passed before he realized none was coming, so he turned and ran for his room.

     “Where are you going?”

     “I have to get ready for school!”

    “Today’s Sunday!” The only answer I received was the slamming of his bedroom door. I sat back down on the couch. There’s only one way a thought like that would even enter his mind. He’s read the book of fairytales. He may even have it.